


dies blümlein leg' ans herz

by elsinorerose



Series: out here in the dark [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Injury, Nudity, gratuitous use of zemnian folk song lyrics, nothing graphic though, spoon or die, unresolved sexual tension that's for damn sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 00:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17991365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsinorerose/pseuds/elsinorerose
Summary: "Jester has reada lotof smut books. She knows how it goes: two attractive people find themselves in some crazy contrived situation where, ohno!they'renaked!and even though they try to resist at first, the attraction istoo muchand they end upgiving in to their passions.It's always inconvenient, and it's always awkward, and it's alwayssexy.There's nothing sexy about this."





	dies blümlein leg' ans herz

Jester has read  _ a lot  _ of smut books. She knows how it goes: two attractive people find themselves in some crazy contrived situation where, oh  _ no!  _ they're  _ naked!  _ and even though they try to resist at first, the attraction is  _ too much  _ and they end up  _ giving in to their passions.  _ It's always inconvenient, and it's always awkward, and it's always  _ sexy.  _

There's nothing sexy about this.

The ground is nearly frozen solid beneath her bruised ribs where she's been flung down into this crude pit. Her left knee throbs. That's where the ogre got her with its hammer, she thinks, wincing. Knee, ribs, probably at least a small concussion. Her right shoulder feels dislocated, and it takes her a moment to realize with a dull horror that, along with their weapons, spell components, and clothes, they have also lost all of their healing potions.

There's a heavy thud next to her and she hears Caleb's breath get knocked out of him as he hits the ground too. Then from somewhere above them, a scraping of metal like a cage door being dragged shut, and almost all the light vanishes.

"Caleb?" she whispers.

No reply, though she can hear his ragged breathing. He's alive, at least. She shuts her eyes and whispers a prayer of thanks to the Traveller. Things could have been so much worse. They're both alive, and now they just have to be patient.

After a few moments of lying there, trying to collect herself and ignore the questions pressing into her mind like daggers — where are the others? Are they safe? Did they get away? Did Nott, with her keen eyes, notice which direction the ogres took them? — Jester at last forces herself to sit up. 

Her shoulder screams white fire.  _ Oh, fuck, fuck _ _ … _ _!  _ A small cry shudders from her lips before she can help it.

Immediately she hears Caleb stir. "Jester?" he asks hoarsely.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You hurt?"

"Ugh." She tries to move her right arm, but it's limp, numb and prickling, and even that small effort is too painful — her breath hisses in through her teeth. "Yeah. Not bad, I don't think. Just my shoulder."

There's a pause. "You don't have any way to —"

"No, they took my holy symbol."

"Right. I thought so, probably, but you never know."

Caleb sounds in worse shape than she is. With a sigh — there's no room for modesty at this point — she turns around and looks at him.

… Well, he's not dead. That's a start. Still, it's jarring, the dark bruises blooming across his skin and one ugly gash carved into his side, dried blood crusted black against pale skin. Very pale skin. He's not doing well. A pang of worry shoots through Jester. She has no way to heal him, and no idea when they're going to be rescued. There isn't even any water here that she could clean the wound with.

"Hey." She shifts closer, ignoring the ache in her shoulder and knee, and puts a cold-numbed hand on his arm. "Are you still with me?"

"Mmh." Caleb's eyes flutter open. "Ja. I'm here."

"Where are we, do you think?"

He sits up on his elbows with a grimace,  and as one, they look up above them to the top of the pit, maybe ten or fifteen feet, where what little light remains in the late evening sky is nearly blocked out by a huge, cruel iron grate. Jester thinks she spies a crude padlock latched tightly shut on the outside. Other than that, there's nothing — no sign of vegetation or sound of activity. Even their captors must have withdrawn to some other place for the night. Why wouldn't they, since there's obviously no danger of Jester and Caleb breaking out?

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think back, calculate how long the ogres carried them from the last landmark she can remember, but she hadn't been paying attention to that sort of thing — she'd been craning her head back to get a glimpse of Caleb slung over the huge shoulder of the ogre behind her, trying to see whether or not he was still breathing. Had it been more than an hour? Two hours? She wishes that the heavy iron bars above them let in enough sky for her to check the position of the stars that must be just coming out. Not that that would really help, she thinks miserably. She doesn't know anything about constellations.

"We're a few hours northeast, I think. Probably by the Ashkeepers."

She looks down at Caleb, whose earnest face is still staring up at the sky, and warmth swells in her chest despite the chill in the air. Of course he's already worked it out. "I thought you were unconscious the whole time," she admits, giving his arm a slight squeeze.

At that he glances back down and gives her a faint smile. "I'm very sneaky."

"Think you can sneak us out of here?"

He falls back onto the hard earth with a little groan. "Sorry to disappoint,  _ liebling,  _ I'm pretty sure I have at least...all of my bones broken."

Jester wrinkles her nose. "Is that Zemnian for  _ blueberry?"  _

"Hmm?"

_ "Liebling."  _

She isn't sure whether he laughs or coughs. "Ja, sure."

Gods, he looks pale. Was he this pale ten minutes ago? Is he still losing blood? "Caleb?" she asks gently. "I'm going to take a look at that wound, okay?"

He doesn't answer, but rolls onto his other side, giving her room. The gash has broken open again and is bleeding in a slow ooze — it's going to need stitches at the very least. Jester holds out her uninjured hand and gingerly feels against his skin for the heat of infection.

Her hand is shaking. So far she's actually proud of herself for ignoring how naked they both are, but it still feels very … private … to touch Caleb's bare side, just above his hips, where the wound curves around to his back. They've both seen each other naked before at least once, a  _ long  _ time ago in that bathhouse in Zadash, but they've never  _ touched  _ like this. If she weren't so concerned about their chances of surviving the night she might even tease him about it, but she really doesn't want the last thing she ever says to Caleb to be a dick joke. More to the point, she doesn't want to do anything that will make him any more reluctant to let her try to treat his injuries, even if there's not much she can do.

His skin feels cool. No infection setting in yet, at least. She pats him on the shoulder. "It's not even that deep," she lies. "But you're gonna have a pretty cool scar."

"What is it with you and scars?" grumbles Caleb, drawing his knees up to his chest and trying to cushion the side of his head with one arm. "And tattoos. Why are you always trying to destroy people's skin?"

She lets herself grin a little. "Skin is boring."

It's not, though. Caleb's skin is … it's … it's good. She looks away, blushing. She wonders if  _ her  _ skin is … good.

Caleb hasn't looked her anywhere but in the eyes since they were both thrown down here, and she's not sure if that means yes or no. In one of her smut books it would mean he's secretly  _ inflamed with desire  _ or something, of course. But she's pretty sure lying in the dirt in the Dwendalian winter dying cancels out that sort of thing.

She makes a fist. He's not dying. That's a terrible ending. He'll be fine.

*

Hours pass. The light continues to fade, until night comes on them fully, and only thanks to her darkvision and the very faint climbing moon can Jester make out Caleb's features, every time she leans over to check that he's still breathing regularly. The rest of the time she holds her injured arm in her lap with the other one wrapped around herself, trying to keep as warm as she can, cursing the bad knee that keeps her from at least getting up and walking around to work up some body heat. It's not late enough in the year to be truly freezing yet, and she doesn't think either of them is at risk of hypothermia — she hopes — but she still finds herself shivering every time the wind picks up outside and sends gusts down through the grate, and she's not entirely sure whether it's just from the cold.

When her teeth start to chatter, though, she hears Caleb's voice in the near-darkness next to her where she thought he was long asleep by now. "For god's sake, lie down."

She goes still, then stubbornly straightens her back. "I'm fine."

"I can see your breath." There's a pause, then: "Lie down and put your back to mine."

_ Don't be stupid,  _ she almost retorts, except this will keep Caleb warm too, won't it? That's what's important right now. Even though this already sounds like the start of  _ another  _ one of her books. Can blushing enough keep you from getting hypothermia? she wonders wryly, cradling her lifeless arm as she lowers herself onto her left side. 

_ "Fuck  _ that's cold," she mutters at the touch of packed earth.

Caleb waits for her to get comfortable before moving closer, pressing his back to hers, and she's not gonna lie, it is a little bit better. At least one side of her body isn't exposed to the open air. She wonders if they look stupid lying there like that. Beau would make fun of her if she could see them now. Then again, if Beau were there it would mean they were being rescued, and that would be worth just about anything.

"Try to rub your arms with your hands," Caleb is telling her, "it will help."

"I can't move one of them," she confesses reluctantly.

"One of your hands?" His voice is tinged with concern.

"My arm."

"Oh."

"It's fine."

"That doesn't sound fine, Jester."

_ You're one to talk.  _ Annoyance flits through her, almost a welcome distraction. "It's not like I can do anything about it, okay?"

A beat. "I know," he says softly. "I'm sorry."

And the welcome distraction is instantly melted away, damn it. Jester sighs. She is about to roll over, to make him do the same, awkwardness be damned, and tell him to his face that everything's going to be fine, that she will keep him safe, that she will heal every one of his hurts as soon as she has her magic restored, that — and then a particularly vicious gust of wind howls past overhead, and she shivers violently.

"Fuck it, you're cold," mutters Caleb, and for a second his warmth against her back disappears, before she's suddenly aware that he has turned to face her.  _ Oh —  _ she has an instant to think, and then his voice is in her ear: "Do you mind?"

She shakes her head.

This is  _ definitely  _ in a book somewhere. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her close to him, and she can feel his breath in her hair, his bruised chest against her back.

(She's not going to think about whether or not she can feel anything else behind her. Her mouth twitches as she tries to suppress a smile, or worse, a giggle. This is  _ serious,  _ after all. Not the time to be immature. Or  _ notice things.) _

"You need to stay awake," Caleb is saying. "Lift up your head." She does, and his other arm is under her neck in a moment, hugging her shoulders. "It's the dead of night. If you get hypothermia, we're in trouble."

"I d-didn't think it was cold enough for that," Jester frowns, and suddenly doubt gnaws at her — what else is she getting wrong? One of Caleb's hands is sticky with blood. A wave of fear crawls up her belly, and as if he can sense it Caleb holds her a little tighter.

"You're from the Menagerie Coast." There is a weak smile in his voice. "We're pretty well versed in winter up by Rexxentrum."

Jester would respond, but her teeth are chattering again, so she just curls up her knees and wraps her good arm around one of Caleb's. It's never like this in the books, she thinks vaguely: no one's scared or trying not to cry, there's never any real danger. Your hands are never so numb from the cold that you wouldn't be able to feel each other up properly even if you wanted to. You can be pretty sure, too, that as soon as the sex is over, the snowstorm's going to end, or you'll finally manage to start a fire, or your friends will show up at last to rescue you from the band of ogres that ambushed your camp and stepped on your magic cat and scared away the … scared away all of the …

"Jester?"

Her eyes snap open.

"Hey, you have to stay awake,  _ liebling." _ Caleb gives her a little shake. "Stay awake."

She giggles. "I'm  _ definitely  _ turning blue now."

" … right." Something in his voice sounds forced. "How about you sing something, ja? Fjord said that when the Iron Shepherds had you all back then, you were quite a singer."

"That was nice of him," she yawns.

"Sing me something." His hand rubs her shoulder — he's been doing that for a while, she realizes. "I don't know a lot of songs, teach me something."

Well, they can't have  _ that.  _ Jester searches her memory, going back to Zadash, to Nicodranas, to the pirate shanties she picked up little bits of during their time on the sea, to the aimless little tunes Caduceus hums without realizing it. Nothing seems right.

Caleb's arms are starting to tense around her again as her silence stretches out, and then finally it comes to her. "I know!"

She feels him exhale in relief. "Go on, then."

"It's a lullaby Mama taught me." There's a sudden lump in her throat, remembering those nights, her mother's soft hands tucking her into bed, the two of them repeating the words after each other, giggling together if one of them slipped up. She swallows fiercely. "It's in Zemnian, so you probably know it already, but maybe it will sound, like, fresh and new because I'm going to pronounce everything wrong."

There's a breathy laugh into her hair. "I can't wait."

It's nice lying here with him like this, Jester thinks. The cold isn't so bad anymore, and the pain in her dislocated shoulder has quieted to a deep ache. She threads her working fingers through Caleb's and begins in a low, unpracticed voice,

_ "Ach, wie ist's möglich dan _ __  
_ Dass ich dich lassen kann, _ __  
_ Hab' dich von herzen lieb, _ _  
_ _ Das glaube mir _ _ … _ __ "

Caleb goes still as she sings. She wonders how badly she's butchering his native language, as she stumbles through the first two verses, faltering now and then when a line escapes her. She has no idea what the words mean. Mama only told her it was a love song, and of course the Ruby of the Sea sang flawlessly in any language, but she's not sure whether Mama actually understood any Zemnian either. Maybe she's singing Caleb a raunchy tavern ballad. That thought, and the act of singing at all in this dark cold place, lightens her heart, and she wonders if Caleb can feel that under his hand. She hadn't noticed his hand was up that high, she realizes with a flush — his fingers are curled lightly just below her clavicle, not quite touching her anywhere … interesting … but not quite … not. Every flutter of her pulse must be beating against his fingertips. And then it occurs to her that in much the same way she has been checking on his breathing all night, the weight of his wellbeing anchoring her in the dark, he may be monitoring her heart rate.

The song fails in her throat. "I don't remember the last verse," she admits truthfully, willing the ache in her chest to vanish. "There was supposed to be more."

There's a moment before Caleb replies, and when he does, his voice is hoarse. "That was beautiful."

"I messed it all up, didn't I?" she grins.

She feels his lips touch her broken shoulder, and her heart stutters. "No, you got it pretty good," he tells her bare skin in a whisper.

They rest there, holding each other, while the wind whistles above, and the melody she's just sung dances in Jester's head. Her limbs ache against the hard ground, her whole body does. Hunger has begun curling painfully in her belly; in her dead arm, pins and needles have given way to tiny knife-stabs. Caleb strokes her shoulder in a slow rhythm.

This is better than the books, she decides.

"I'm sorry we have ended up in this place," murmurs Caleb.

"Me too," she murmurs back. "We're stupid."

"Very stupid. And Nott used to want me to be in charge, remember?"

Jester thinks of the wound in his side that must still be on fire, of the steadiness in his voice, of his hands. "I don't know, you are pretty good at taking care of people."

When she turns around, still encircled by his arms, he's staring at her, searching for something in her eyes, and she wonders if she can find whatever it is in his, or if he'll beat her to it.  _ The race is on,  _ she thinks dumbly, wildly. His gaze flickers over her lips.

"JESSIE! CALEB!"

"Oh my god" tumbles out of Jester's open mouth. She pulls away with a start that causes her shoulder to flare with agony.  _ "Fuck!"  _ she hisses. "Beau!"

Caleb has scrambled away from her. "Beauregard!" he shouts. He's trying to stand up, but Jester lunges out and grabs his arm. 

"Sit down," she growls, "you're basically  _ dying." _

"Caleb?!" comes Beau's voice again, somewhere far away up above.

"Down here!"

"Ignore that we're naked!" shouts Jester as loudly as she can.

Caleb laughs. An actual, if exhausted, laugh. Hope blooms across Jester's heart. "Watch out for the fucking ogres!" he shouts up, but he's smiling, and when Beau's echoing shout sounds a little closer, followed by Fjord's, Jester thinks she can make out a blush on his face in the near-darkness. People only blush when they're definitely not going to die, she decides. So Caleb's definitely not going to die. And neither is she.

They're going to live, and they're going to heal, and they're going to be  _ warm. _

She staggers to her feet. "And throw us our fucking clothes!"

_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> Jester sings the first two verses of _Ach, wie ist's möglich dan,_ a ~~German~~ Zemnian folk song. The lyrics in ~~English~~ Common are roughly translated below. Thanks to [bringyouhometoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringyouhometoo/pseuds/bringyouhometoo), my resident Zemnian expert, and NefariousMoss, my glorious beta-reader (and -spooner), for their help.
> 
> "Oh, how is it possible that I'm able to leave you?  
> I love you from the bottom of my heart, believe me.  
> You've taken in my soul so completely  
> That I do not love any other, but only you.
> 
> A little flower is blossoming blue,  
> Its name is forget-me-not,  
> Hold this little flower to your heart and remember me.  
> If both flower and hope die soon, we'll still be rich in love,  
> Because, believe me, it will never die with me."


End file.
